Just Add Magic

by Cindy Callaghan

  I noticed Hannah shoot a harsh look in her direction.

  “Fat chance,” Darbie said, and pulled us toward the mariachi band playing the “Macarena.” “Do you think she could have gotten rid of her blisters that fast by changing her shoes?” Darbie asked.

  Hannah said, “I think it depends on how bad they were in the first place. But I think if you keep them clean, or go to the doctor, they can get better very quickly.”

  None of us said what Hannah’s comment could mean, but I read her mind. She thought the blisters had nothing to do with the Secret Recipe Book and that their cure had nothing to do with the Moon Honey.

  “Ouch!” Smack. “Gotcha,” Hannah said to the mosquito on her arm. Actually, she had several bites on her arm.

  “Haven’t you done anything nice yet?” I asked.

  Hannah said, “It’s just a mosquito. Don’t make it something it isn’t.”

  I dropped the topic and we entered the school parking lot, which was full of colorful chili pepper lights and decorations. Tables were set up on either side of an Astroturf pathway. Tiki torches and orange paper lanterns marked the pathway. The smell of chili clouded the air.

  The contestants had decorated their own tables. Most people used bright cloth paper lanterns and signage identifying who they were. Mom was standing by her table handing out samples of her chili in little Styrofoam bowls along with brightly colored napkins.

  People parked cars up and down the street to get a taste of the action. But the only opinion that really mattered was Mr. Douglass’. It looked like he was starting the judging with Mrs. R.

  A hush fell over the crowd as he prepared himself to sample the four-time champion’s chili. All eyes were glued on the Home Ec teacher as he gave a bizarre performance. He pulled a purple bandana out of his back pocket and blindfolded himself. He moved his longish, slender nose over the steam lifting from his bowl. He registered no facial expression as he dipped only the tip of his plastic spoon into the chili and delivered it to his pursed lips. He savored the stew for a moment before chewing with a look of deep concentration. After swallowing, he slid his tongue around the inside of his mouth, visibly exploring his cheeks and teeth without so much as a hint whether he liked it or not.

  The ritual was painfully slow and detailed, so I scanned the crowd. I was surprised at who I saw walking from a handicapped parking space: Mrs. Silvers with a walker and her daughter helping her to navigate the parking lot. She approached the tables.

  I tapped Darbie on the shoulder. “Look,” I said.

  “That Moon Honey must be some powerful stuff to get her up and around,” she said.

  Hannah turned to see what we were staring at. “What’s on her face?” she asked.

  “I think it’s a smile,” I said.

  “Scary,” Darbie added.

  Mrs. Silvers and her daughter walked toward us. “Hello, girls.” Joanne eyed our uniforms. “Looks like you made the team.” She waved to someone in the crowd of Mr. Douglass watchers.

  “Did you win?” Mrs. Silvers asked. Her voice was husky and there was something strange about it . . . something that I couldn’t put my finger on.

  “Yep,” Hannah offered.

  “Thanks for the sneak preview of your chili,” Mrs. Silvers said. That might’ve been the most I’d ever heard her say without yelling. That’s what was different about her voice. She wasn’t yelling. “It was so good, I wanted to come get some more,” she continued.

  “I’m glad you liked it,” I said.

  Darbie and Hannah seemed mesmerized by this woman who had invaded Mrs. Silvers’s body. “When did they let you out of the hospital?” Darbie asked as though Mrs. Silvers had been let out of prison. Before she had a chance to answer, Darbie added, “And what were you in for?” Then, under her breath, “A personality transplant?”

  No one else heard, but I nudged her to shut up.

  “Oh, I was just in for one night,” Mrs. Silvers replied. “Partial knee replacement.” She lifted up the bottom of her housedress, which solved an old mystery—she did, in fact, have feet. Who knew? She also revealed a rather gruesome zipper scar that hadn’t fully healed on her knee. “Check that out.”

  “Holy stromboli,” Darbie said. “That’s a beaut.” Hannah and I looked away from the bruised and swollen joint.

  Mrs. Silvers laughed. The woman laughed.

  “Does it hurt?” Hannah asked.

  “Sure, a bit. But I’m taking pain medicine, so it’s not too bad. And it’s going to be much better than it was before. Oh, it always hurt so badly before.”

  Back in the crowd Mr. Douglass finished his work at the Rusamano table. He politely thanked Mrs. R. and moved along to the next table, writing in his judge’s notebook on his way. Then I saw Mrs. Eagle emerge from the crowd holding a little shopping bag by the handle. She handed the bag to Joanne. “Herrre you go. Therrre’s a containerrr frrrom each table.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Eagle,” Joanne said. Mrs. Eagle simply nodded and returned to the group of women staring at Mr. Douglass’ every move. “She was the librarian when I went to school here.”

  “Lovely woman,” Mrs. Silvers added.

  Lovely? Not a word I would’ve used to describe Mrs. Eagle.

  “Oh, wait a minute,” Mrs. Silvers said. “I almost forgot. I saw something I thought you might be interested in, Kelly.” She balanced herself carefully on her walker before pushing one hand into her muumuu’s pocket. She took out an ad from a folded magazine. “Here.”

  I unfolded it and read. Hannah and Darbie read over my shoulder. “Felice Foudini is hosting a recipe challenge. You submit your recipe and the one she likes best, wins. The prize is money and a visit from Felice herself!” I recapped. “This is awesome. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” Mrs. Silvers said. “I heard you were an aspiring chef, so I thought you would be interested.”

  I said, “I love Felice Foudini.”

  “Well, good luck,” Mrs. Silvers said.

  Then Joanne said, “It was nice seeing you, but we’re going to head back home and elevate Mom’s leg again. We just wanted to get out for a moment of fresh air.”

  We said our good-byes and watched Joanne help the woman claiming to be Mrs. Silvers get back into the car.

  As we watched her leave, I said, “I think we all just made a personal visit to Crazytown.”

  Darbie added, “Serious twilight zone. I think I have goose bumps. I mean, who the heck was that? Did you hear that laugh?”

  “Those must have been some powerful moonbeams,” I said.

  Hannah giggled a bit. “Moonbeams, schmoonbeams. Do I need to point out to you that you didn’t send her to the hospital? That kind of operation is planned way ahead of time.”

  Hannah had a point. Maybe I hadn’t sent her to the hospital—but then I hadn’t reversed anything either. Maybe I’d just given an old lady some chili with a dab of honey.

  26

  And the Winner Is . . .

  Darbie said, “I’m gonna get me some of Mrs. R.’s chili before it’s all gone. I’m so hungry my ribs are showing.”

  “Me too,” Hannah said.

  We wiggled our way to the front of the Rusamano’s table.

  “Hey, Mrs. R.,” Darbie said. “How are you?”

  “Hello, girls.” She gave us each a kiss on the cheek. “Congratulations, Frankie told me about the big game.”

  “Where is Frankie?” Hannah asked. Mrs. R.’s lip curled up a bit as she scraped three bowls of chili out of the bottom of the pot.

  “Mr. R. set up a warmer in the back of one of the landscaping trucks,” she said. “Frankie and Tony went to get me some more pots. The chili’s going fast. I hope I don’t run out.”

  Not a second later we heard Frankie. “Excuse me, coming through.” Behind him, also carrying a pot, was Tony. I noticed something on Tony’s arms that I’d never noticed before: muscles. Behind Tony was Mr. R.

  “Scusi, hot stuff. And I’m not talking ’bout the chil
i!” Mr. R. laughed loudly. He placed a huge silver pot where his wife pointed. She was prepared to feed a small country.

  “Hi, girls,” Frankie said. “So, whatcha think of the chili? Good, huh?” I guess he wasn’t mad about being potioned anymore. Boys are like that—they can get over stuff faster than girls, who make a big deal out of everything.

  Darbie said, “It’s good.”

  While Darbie and Hannah chatted with the Rusamanos, I approached Mom. “Mom, where’s the cooler I packed?”

  “In the car.” She didn’t look at me. She was focused on the man walking toward her table. It was Mr. Douglass with a glass of water.

  Quickly I got the cooler, which contained my lunch Thermos. Inside my lunch Thermos was a cup of the homemade ice cream with vanilla bean from Isla de Cedros. I put some ice cream into a Styrofoam bowl.

  Mr. Douglass approached our table and put his hand on my shoulder. “Hello, Kelly. And you must be Mrs. Quinn. You’ve raised a future chef in this girl. She’s my brightest student.”

  “Don’t I know it. She’d make Felice Foudini proud. You know Kelly was on her television show several years ago?”

  “She was? Kelly, you didn’t tell me that. I read her blog every day. I would love to meet her.”

  I said, “I don’t really keep in touch with her.”

  Mr. Douglass said, “We should get Miss Foudini to come to Alfred Nobel to be a guest chef. Oh, and maybe next year we can be co-judges.”

  “Really?” I asked. “That would be amazing.”

  “What’s that?” he asked, looking at my bowl of ice cream.

  “Oh, nothing. It was just some ice cream. But it wasn’t very good.” I took the ice cream intended to enhance his taste buds right before he tried our chili and pitched it into the nearby trash can. I couldn’t do it. He was so nice to me, and he thought I was a good cook.

  Mom handed Mr. Douglass a bowl of her chili. “Now, what we’ve done this year is interesting. We’ve . . .”

  Mr. Douglass ignored Mom as he fixated on getting himself into judge character. He set down the chili and blindfolded himself.

  Mom watched Mr. Douglass inhale the steam rising from the bowl. His expression was unchanged. Mom wrung her hands. “Does he look like he likes it?” she whispered to me.

  “I think he always looks like that,” I whispered back.

  Mr. Douglass finished his tasting ritual, took off the blindfold, and Mom invaded his personal space bubble. “So?” she asked.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Quinn.” He took her hand, bent at the waist, and kissed it. “Enchanté.” And then he walked away, writing in his notebook.

  “Do you think he liked it?” asked my mom. “He kissed my hand. I don’t think he kissed Lucia Rusamano’s hand. He looked like he liked it, I think.”

  “I’m sure he liked it, Mom—and that Felice thing has to go a long way. He’s a huge fan.”

  “Yeah. Sure. Of course he liked it.” Mom walked away from the table still babbling to herself. “Why wouldn’t he like it?”

  Pat, pat went the microphone.

  Darbie stood next to me. “I saw what you did with the ice cream. I just want to know why?”

  Now Hannah was on the other side of me. “Because Mrs. Silvers just confirmed that there are no potions in the Book,” she said.

  “Actually,” I said, “it just felt like cheating.”

  “TESTING, un, deux, trois.” Mr. Douglass stood at a podium decorated with chili pepper garden lights. “May I have everyone’s attention, please? Thank you to all of this year’s contestants and to all of you tasters. All of the dishes were wonderfully impressive. But there can only be one winner. And the winner of the Alfred Nobel Chili Cook-Off is . . .”

  I held my breath and crossed my fingers.

  “. . . Lucia Rusamano!”

  The crowd cheered.

  My mom clapped, but I saw her body deflate and her shoulders hunch into her “bummed-out Mom” posture.

  The next half hour passed with very little talking. Dad loaded a bunch of stuff into his car, including Buddy, who was snoozing, and they headed for home.

  Hannah and Darbie got into Mom’s minivan. The parking lot slowly emptied.

  “Good night, Lucia,” Mom said to Mrs. R. “Congratulations.” She forced a smile.

  “Grazie, Becky.” She walked over and gave my mom a kiss on each cheek before climbing into the landscaping truck.

  “Bye, guys,” Frankie said. “See you tomorrow.” He climbed into the back of the truck and wrapped his arms around empty pots to keep them secure.

  I was trying to lift a box into the back of the minivan when Frankie’s twin brother, Tony, appeared. He loaded the last of the bowls and spoons into the landscaping truck and walked over to me.

  “Kelly, let me help you with that,” he said. I thought that was the most I’d ever heard Tony say. “Sorry about the contest. I know you really wanted to win.”

  Of everyone who could have acknowledged my disappointment, it was Tony Rusamano. “Thanks, Tony,” I said.

  He lifted the heavy box and easily slid it into the back of the minivan. Then he reached over my head to pull down the back hatch, and his arm brushed mine. His hand lingered next to mine for an extra beat or two. It felt like the frozen feathery feet of three hundred centipedes danced up my arms. When he moved his hand, he raised it to my cheek and I felt a—

  “OOoch,” I said in response to the shock.

  “Sorry about that, you had a fuzzy thing on your face.” His eyes were glued on me. A cool autumn breeze blew his bangs out of his face. I’d never really seen his eyes. They were hazel with flecks of gold and framed by incredibly long, dark eyelashes.

  And then it happened: He leaned closer, right next to my ear. I smelled the fabric softener on his flannel shirt. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Kelly,” he said. I felt his warm breath on my neck.

  Tony Rusamano brushed his hair aside. Then he winked and smiled at me.

  I repeat: Tony Rusamano blatantly winked and smiled right at me, Kelly Quinn.

  27

  More Bug Juice

  “Well, girls, you win some and you lose some,” Mom said to us in the minivan.

  “Keep your chin up, Mrs. Q.,” Darbie said. “There’s always next year.”

  Ordinarily I would’ve been furious about having to rake Charlotte’s yard wearing I-can’t-imagine-what. But right then, every section of my brain was preoccupied—no, obsessed—with two things: a wink and a smile.

  We pulled into Sam’s. “Thanks, Mom. I’ll walk home.” I hopped out of the van after the girls.

  “Wait.” Mom pulled me back. “I really liked doing this contest with you,” she said. Her eyes welled up.

  Oh, holy guacamole. Here it was, a burst of maternal emotion.

  “It was just so nice spending extra time with you,” she said.

  “It was fun for me too,” I said. Hannah and Darbie had already disappeared into Sam’s. “Maybe we could talk about this tonight, Mom.”

  She wiped her eyes. “Yes. Sure, of course we can. You go have some fun with the girls and celebrate making the team and your big victory. Don’t worry about the contest, it’s not important.”

  “Okay, but Mom, it was really fun.”

  The chili contest had always been the most exciting thing in our lives for the month of September, but this year I had been so busy with the Book that I sort of blew it off.

  Because of the Book.

  “Congratulations! Looks like you all made the team,” Sam said. “I got a new flavor in today—German chocolate. And it’s on me, so you can celebrate the new ANtS girls’ soccer team.”

  “And we won our first game!” Hannah said.

  “Terrific. That calls for free whipped cream, too.”

  Smirking, I whispered, “And that’s not all.”

  The girls looked at me, confused.

  We took our bowls to a table. I couldn’t get my grin to relax.

  “What’s up with you?” Hannah a
sked. “I thought you’d be furious about Mrs. Silvers not being potioned, and the Book not being real.”

  “And about having to rake Charlotte’s yard,” Darbie said.

  “I’m not thrilled about the raking gig. And for the record, the next time you want to open your big boca and make a bet for me, check with me first. Whatdoyasay, Darb?”

  Her head bobbed.

  “And I’m still thinking about the Silvers thing. That’s an anomaly, as you scientific types say about data that doesn’t make sense. But you’re never going to believe what happened to me when I was packing up the minivan.” I paused to make sure I had their complete attention. “You see, Hannah, you’re wrong about the Book.”

  I explained the arm brush, hand linger, shock, whisper, wink, and smile.

  “Tony?” Hannah asked.

  “Tony,” I confirmed. “And I’ve seen him hanging around at our practices and maybe at the game.”

  “Lurking?” Darbie joked.

  “Sort of, I guess, but not in a creepy way.”

  “OMG! He likes you!” Darbie said.

  “Tony? No way,” Hannah said. “Maybe a chunk of his bangs fell into his eyes, making it look like he winked.”

  Darbie asked, “Why wouldn’t Tony have a crush on Kelly? Besides being probably the coolest and most-liked girl in seventh grade, she’s also one of the prettiest.”

  Was she talking about me?

  Hannah said, “Of course she is, but this is Tony Rusamano we’re talking about. He doesn’t know what the word ‘girl’ means.”

  Darbie took a big spoonful of the German chocolate ice cream.

  “That’s exactly my point,” I said. “There’s no way he likes me ordinarily, which is what makes this so major. Remember when we brought Frankie the Love Bug Juice?”

  They nodded.

  “Tony drank some too. Remember? Before his graceful display of armpit farts?”

  “Oh yeah, he did,” Darbie said. “He makes some impressive sounds with that pit.”

  Sam yelled over, “How do you like the German chocolate?”

  Only Darbie had even tasted it. Hannah and I stopped chattering and dipped our spoons into our ice cream. “Mmmm,” I said.